"Hey, go out th' back way," growled Big Sandy, interposing his huge bulk between Bates and the door. "An' don't let Frisco see you near a cayuse, neither," he added.
Nevada walked quickly over to his friend and said a few hurried words in a low voice and Big Sandy nodded. "Shore, Nevada; he might try that, but I'll watch him. If he tries to sneak I'll let you know hasty. We're in this to stay," and he followed the others to the door.
Nevada turned and faced the bartender. "Mike, you keep quiet about what you saw an' heard to-day; understand? If you don't, me an' you won't fit in this town at th' same time."
Mike grinned. "I forgot how to talk after one exciting day up in Cheyenne, an' I ain't been drunk since, neither."
"Yo're a wise man," replied the other, stepping out by the back door and hastening up the street where he could keep watch over Quinn's saloon. It was an hour before he caught sight of Frisco, and he was riding west, singing at the top of his lungs. Then Quinn slipped into his corral and threw a saddle on a horse.
"Drop it!" said a quiet voice behind him and he turned to see Nevada watching him.
"What do you mean?" demanded Quinn, ominously.
"Let loose of that cayuse an' go back inside," was the reply.
"You get th' h—l out of here an' mind yore own—" Quinn leaped aside and jerked at his Colt; but was too late, and he fell, badly wounded. Nevada sprang forward and disarmed him and then, mounting, galloped off to join his friends.